


Checkmate

by gracca_amorosa



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sex, the yearning, they barely speak and im so into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracca_amorosa/pseuds/gracca_amorosa
Summary: After Mexico City Vasily felt sorry for the girl that lost to him, in Paris her tears confused and upset him in ways he could not quite pinpoint, after Moscow - just a day ago - the king held tight in their hands between them, so tight it almost cut the palm, pulling this girl into an embrace and realizing as his arms wrapped around her narrow frame that the blood was rushing in his body, roaring in his ears as he felt her fingers dig into his back. The hesitation he felt before letting go. The realization that this girl was more powerful than he was, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Relationships: Vasily Borgov/Beth Harmon
Comments: 18
Kudos: 243





	Checkmate

The first time they fucked they didn’t kiss. Vasily Borgov was almost ashamed of what he was doing, what he was giving into, the betrayal his wife would feel if she found out. They were rivals, or they were supposed to be; after Mexico City Vasily felt sorry for the girl that lost to him, in Paris her tears confused and upset him in ways he could not quite pinpoint, after Moscow - just a day ago - the king held tight in their hands between them, so tight it almost cut the palm, pulling this girl into an embrace and realizing as his arms wrapped around her narrow frame that the blood was rushing in his body, roaring in his ears as he felt her fingers dig into his back. The hesitation he felt before letting go. The realization that this girl was more powerful than he was, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Beth Harmon was just overwhelmed by the feelings he made her feel, confused by them. Since losing to him in Mexico City she had obsessed over him, going over all his old matches and reading any English articles she could find about him. After Paris, though, the feeling deep in her gut shifted, thick and viscous, as she thought of his shocked face when she started crying. Genuine concern was there, and for a moment - a second - he started to reach out a hand to her, but stopped himself before he could give in to the impulse. Before she turned to escape the room, the people, she saw his eyes flicker with confusion, whether at her or himself she did not know.

They fucked fast, desperate, her legs clamped around his waist, his face pressed into the hollow of her neck, both panting quickly but quietly, knowing they had to finish soon but unable to stop, the sex itself not the focus but the release, their power play come to fruition in a hotel room guarded over by a KGB agent that might well shoot them both for what they were doing.

If she hadn’t come to his room, Vasily thought, he would not be here right now in this terrible, compromising situation. If she had just gone to bed after becoming world champion he wouldn’t be feeling the heavy guilt and pure sensation of fucking this girl, his only true equal. If only she had left him alone.

Beth, though, had no such qualms, knew exactly what she was doing. She was drawn into his orbit as she had always been, and the impulse to see him was too great for her to bear. She had an addictive personality, and being sober from drugs and booze left a power vacuum that Borgov - and only Borgov - seemed to fill. The rush is what she wanted, and coming to his door like this, under guard as it was, having him open it, see her in her nightgown, and invite her in anyway, that was almost enough to get her off then and there, the blood rushing to her head making her feel like she was flying. 

Her fingers dug into his back, and he knew they would leave marks that his wife might see, and he pushed the thoughts away and focused on the sharp little pinpricks of pain. He did not touch her, though, elbows next to her head, hands straining against the need to run them over her neck and shoulder and breast, and the thought of being bold enough to take her tit into his mouth made him come, and hearing his quieted grunt of release was enough for her to follow.

He rolled off of her, being careful not to look her in the eye, and she did the same. After it was all said and done the real weight of the situation settled over them, rising in Vasily’s chest like bile, in Beth’s like a geyser. She threw on her clothes as quickly as possible, combed her hair in the reflection of a framed painting on the wall. When she did finally look for him he was sitting on the bed, hands clasped in front of him so hard the knuckles were white, looking at his feet, his pants and shirt on but not buttoned. He looked far away. She wanted to go to him then, cradle his face in her hands and kiss him until they reached an understanding. She took a single step in his direction and his head snapped up, expression unreadable, and shook his head once, slowly, before looking back down. She pressed her lips together and left, calling out a “Thank you for the discussion, Mr. Borgov,” that to both their ears sounded strained.

Vasily’s whole face was hot, whole body was hot, and the waves and waves of shame rolled over him with an intensity. He waited for the agent stationed outside to come in and question him, but he didn’t. He waited for his wife to call him, for her to have sensed that he was committing a shameful act against her, but she didn’t. So he sat in the dark, alone, and thought about Elizabeth Harmon.

The second time they fucked it was just as desperate but more intimate, more straightforward. The feeling of dread still sat like a stone in Vasily’s stomach but he could not resist her, and this time didn’t try. The overwhelming need still coursed through Beth’s veins, and she let herself feel his whole body this time, the surprising strength in his thighs and the press of his chest against her chest.

He gave in: he kissed her neck, sucking gently, making her moan with every movement, and it felt good to feel that power over her, since he had lost in the game. He lost to her in this tournament as well, the one that had ended scarcely three hours ago, but playing her was so much like foreplay that he wished, for the full four hours that they ended up playing, that he was undressing her then and there, in front of all of the spectators if he had to. When he got back to his hotel room he paced the length of it, trying to talking himself out of this terrible headspace he found himself in, but he was unable to stop thinking of her fingers.

The whole round, she stared at him. It clouded her judgment somewhat, but she was hoping it would cloud his more - and she was right. He left himself open in the middlegame, which is the only reason she beat him, but she would never admit that to him. Mostly though, she just wanted to look at him. She wanted to be seen looking at him, wanted all these spectators to see her looking and to see him looking back. It felt dangerous.

She pressed a hand to the side of his face and moved his lips to her own, kissed him soft as she could, seeing what he would do, and he took the opportunity to devour her whole.

There was no KGB agent this time, no wife, no child, no mother, no beau. There was time. They took their time. Their eyes were closed most of the time - when Vasily looked to Elizabeth she was turned away, neck arched with pleasure, and when Beth looked at Borgov his eyes were closed but his mouth was open, sweat at his brow. Over and over their eyes passed one another over and over and over they never locked - they were both afraid of what would happen if they did.

The third time - the last time - they couldn’t look away from each other. Their foreheads pressed together and they barely even blinked. Moscow, again, and again the threat of Vasily’s wife hung over both of their heads, but this time they couldn’t care - Vasily was retiring from the game, their shared tension dissipating after his loss to her for the third time, and they both wanted more than anything to act, not to speak.

Vasily didn’t care anymore about keeping the secret - the secret wouldn’t matter after this. There would be no more secret. They had to make all their plays now, or never. 

He put a palm against her too-soft cheek and her eyes fluttered closed. His thumb brushed her bottom lip and her mouth opened just enough for her to take his finger in her mouth, sucking gently, making him gasp at the intimacy of the gesture even as he straddled her naked form. Her hands stretched flat against his chest and rose by centimeters up, one left on his neck, thumb pressed hard into the soft jugular flesh like it was meant to be there, the other at the back of his head, pressing him in until he had to move his own hand in order to kiss her, taste her, her eyes flying open so that he could not look away.

She locked her legs around his waist and rocked herself up to meet his thrust, leading now instead of following, and her whole body felt like a heartbeat as he tried to regain control, as he always did - this was their lot in life, to be enemies, to be rivals, even here, even now. She felt the pull as he fisted his hand into her hair and dragged her head back, but this just made her smile and buck under him harder, and the quick blink of surprise on his face drove her on as it always did. It was what fed her during their matches, and what was this but one last chance for him to gain the advantage?

She pressed her hands into his chest and he sat up just enough for her to leverage herself, turning him over so she was on top now, as it was always meant to be. His face even now was on the edge of impassive, but she could see in his quick-moving glances, his rough hands grasping her hips, the small downturn of his mouth that she was getting to him. That’s what she wanted - what they both wanted - the excuse to lose themselves in this particular game.

Vasily did give in. He cupped her tits and brushed a thumb across her nipples, making her eyes roll back and her mouth fall open. They both panted now, as much from exertion as from need, and it was his turn to buck his hips, letting her ride him but he was in control now. She leaned back just enough to change the sensation and when he looked up at her she was looking down at him, and the connection was enough to make his whole body feel electric - he came, and her shortly after.

For a moment they stayed like that, looking away from one another now that the game was done, trying to catch their breath. Without warning Beth rolled off of him and found her clothes on the floor, sliding into her dress, back to him. He lay in his bed, looking at this young woman who won against him, who had such sway over his thoughts that he would risk all this just for a short hour with her. 

She was halfway to the door when Borgov spoke.

“You are a player for the history books,” he said, and she turned to look at him. “I will miss playing against you.”

Her eyes flicked from his, then away, then back, then away. She felt as if she would choke on her own tongue, so instead of saying all the things that were racing through her head, she said nothing. She left. 

She went, alone, to her own hotel room and left early the next morning without saying a word. When she got home to Lexingon she slept for hours, and dreamt of him.

He didn’t move from where she left him for hours. Thinking about her. About their matches. About the guilt that he wished was still heaving in his lungs but was not there. He slept, and dreamt of her.

They never spoke again.


End file.
